Goes Somer * Goesomer * Gossamer

Holy. Shit. I'd forgotten what kind of awesome the Whoverse is, mostly because I'd forgotten that there are people who will work together for the common purpose of making things which don't suck. Or that there are people who, after dangling the carrot for months actually give you the carrot instead of burning it and laughing in your face.

Torchwood. Just as I give up on TV and have completely forgotten that they're actually making more Who and Torchwood, Davis takes hold of a 2x4, sidles up beside me friendly-like, and beats me bloody.

I love every second of it.

Jack!!! Oh, John, poor John. Now I know why he *could not contain himself* at Comic Con last year. And why the producer, Julie, was sitting next to him with her fingernails digging into his arm as he bounced in his seat--like a parent with an over-exuberant child. I imagine there was a conversation before appearing on stage that went something like this:

Julie: "John? Remember what we talked about? You can't tell them anything about the script you read on the plane."
John: *Bouncing* "Got it, Boss-Lady."
Julie: "I mean it John. We can't have another repeat, like at the restaurant when I told you you Jack didn't die on Satellite Five and you were getting your own show--"
John: *Bouncing* "Right-right-right, got it, lips sealed."
Julie: "--and contain your tendancy to geek-out, please. When we get back on set, I promise we'll put you and David together in a nice padded room and you can crawl up the walls and scream like fifteen-year-old girls in "A Hard Day's Night" all you like. We can't have you doing that in public, okay?"
John: *Doe eyes* "Really, Julie, can we?!"
Julies: "We'll even get you matching straight-jackets."
John: "Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou Boss-Lady! You're the bestest Boss-Lady in the history of ever, you saved Jack, you gave me my own show, you give me scripts I'd give you my left boy for--"
Julie: "I don't want your left nut, John."
John: "And this has been my best day ever the script blowning me up--"
Julie: "John! You can't say--"
John: "An hour with my fellow Who-nerds and the love will flow like milk and honey and coffee--"
Gareth: *to Julie* "Whatever they put in his coffee, I want some."
Julie: "WHO GAVE HIM COFFEE?!"

*Sigh*. Is it sad that I can imagine this happening?

I love Doctor Who. Love, love, love, love, love. I want to give Jack and the Doctor hugs, let them cry for humanity and its lost souls and love them for still believing in us in spite of ourselves.

I want to tell the Doctor he's not alone, he's never alone, we love him, he makes mistakes and we still love him because eachother is all we've got--faulty, lying, miserable, desperate, lonely eachother. I've almost forgiven him for Donna (he has make-up work to do this season; the kind that involves whips).

I want to take the burden for Jack--die just once if it means he won't have to--just the one time, or fifty. I don't want him to die anymore.

Huh. So that's what it felt like--why the Bad Wolf did it. If I had all of time and space, I'd never be able to let him go. Call me Bad Wolf.

Jack! Doctor! Never leave me again, please, please, please!